


A Night of Joes

by falafelfiction



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 00:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2902997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/falafelfiction/pseuds/falafelfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chief Tyrol reflects on his life aboard the Galactica during a typical night at Joes Bar. Set towards the end of S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Joes

**Author's Note:**

> Most of my BSG fic was written in 2008/2009 and posted on my livejournal. I'm uploading it to Ao3 for posterity.

Galen slaps down his cubits on the bar and waits for Joe to pour him another tumbler of ‘the good stuff’.

Another night in this frakking bar and the sick feeling in his heart that this is the high point of his day. This is the place Galen comes to refuel. He can knock back at least half a dozen shots of this clear scorching liquor before stumbling back to his quarters for another fight with Cally and another long ceaseless night of Nicky’s wailing. If he’s lucky he’ll grab a few hours sleep before they have to drag themselves out of bed, take up their wrenches and get their hands dirty.

All of it before and all of it again. The same old drill.

It’s all they have left now. This is his life.

Apollo was right when he said Galen would fall in love with Joes. He spends most of his nights here too. Right now the Major is slouching in his stool, his uniform hanging loose, his lips a wrinkled line. Apollo spins his wedding ring on the bar like it’s a triad chip he’s getting ready to trade in for a big money gamble. When he sees Galen is staring at him, Apollo slips the ring back onto his finger and turns to watch his wife take another shot at the Pyramid X.

Anders is standing close by and advising Dee on how to hold her arm, focusing her aim. Dee throws the Pyramid ball like she’s throwing a punch. Galen has to wonder exactly how many punches she’s been holding back. Starbuck watches them from a nearby table, a bottle of whisky dangling from her arm. She laughs for no particular reason, throwing back her head and squeezing her eyes closed. Whenever Starbuck laughs, Apollo bows his head and looks like he could cry.

When they aren’t practising their shots at the Pyramid X, Anders and Dee wander back to the bar and place firm kisses on their spouse’s lips. They pretend not to notice that Apollo and Starbuck are always looking at each other over their shoulders. They quickly turn their backs and go back to their game.

It doesn’t take Galen long to tire of their company. He asks Joe for a tall glass of ambrosia and threads his way across the room. Dee and Anders don’t comment on his leaving. Starbuck and Apollo don’t notice. These people aren’t really his crowd. It’s nights like this that Galen gets to missing the still in his store room. He misses the nights when he would ask his kids to huddle round him and teach them how to make their own booze with a spot heater, a scrubber and a length of copper tubing. The old team. Gods, he misses them. Most of them are dead now. So many of them lost in the fires on the first day of the Attacks; Socinus and Tarn who died for a fat lot of nothing on the surface of Kobol. Sometimes Galen even finds himself missing the time when Cally was one of his kids, before she became his wife.

Then there’s Jammer. Galen thinks Jammer would have loved it here at Joes. He can imagine himself striding through the bar with Jammer under his arm. He can see the kid’s face lighting up as he sees the flashing of the pinball machine and hears the clink of the balls on the pool table. Yeah, Galen can still remember Jammer’s face. He had a sweet face. Sweet kid. Oh Gods...what had happened since then?

Galen crosses the bar to the quiet table in the corner where Felix Gaeta sits alone. The lieutenant smokes a cigarette whilst humming along to the jukebox. Felix is the only person who can make Galen feel better when he starts thinking of Jammer. Felix is the horrible mistake he didn’t make.

Galen puts the ambrosia down on his table. Felix blinks at it.

“What’s this for?” he asks.

Galen shrugs, leaning against the wall instead of sitting.

“Word on the decks is you stabbed Gaius Baltar in the neck. A lot of people have been saying they’d like to buy you a drink.”

Felix just stares at him. “You’re the first one who has.”

Felix’s hair and uniform are rumpled. His eyes are sharp as the nib of a pen. These days Felix doesn’t sit alone at tables because he lacks friends. He sits alone because in his own way he unnerves people. Their tactical officer used to be so reliable, so efficient, so unfailing. Now the cracks are beginning to show. And when Felix Gaeta starts to lose it, well…it’s like seeing some vital piece of the ship's circuitry that's malfunctioning.

Galen sighs. “Truth is…I owe you a drink for every one of those messages you left me in that garbage dumpster…”

“That’ll be twenty-seven drinks then,” Felix says curtly.

Galen doesn’t doubt his math. “Okay then," he nods. "You’ll get them…”

Felix rolls his eyes and splutters on a mouthful of smoke. He looks down at the cigarette in disgust before stubbing it out in the ashtray. Felix sighs for a moment, then reaches for the silver box and the lighter in his pocket.

Galen shakes his head in confusion.

“Felix, why do you smoke so much if you don’t like cigarettes?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, staring at his new cigarette in bemusement. “I’m only a social smoker really…”

Galen raises his eyebrows at the empty spaces that surround his table. Felix holds his stare and dares him to say something, but Galen bites his tongue. He thinks Felix must prefer Joe's bar to the empty corridors where just about anyone might jump him, gag him and put a bag over his head. He decides to leave Felix alone. They aren’t really friends anymore. Once a yellow dog bowl made them both feel like heroes. But things have changed since then. Too much has happened.

As Galen walks away he wonders if he really is happy that Baltar got stabbed. Is he happy that the rat bastard is locked up in the Brig and should be getting flushed out an airlock later this month? He can’t tell anymore. It’s easy to hate Gaius Baltar, easy as breathing. Sometimes it makes him feel better to have someone to hate, someone to blame. But as he ducks into the toilet cubicle and bolts the door, he takes out a copy of Baltar’s manifesto that's been rolled up in his pocket. He confiscated it from one of his deckhands earlier that day. Part of him is tempted to read it, but not yet. Not just now...

Galen is struck by the picture of Baltar on the cover. His face is clean and handsome. It has Galen remembering the prissy Doctor who he was marooned with on Kobol; the man who he'd found to be a royal pain in the ass, but not an evil man, not a traitor to the human race. What has turned Baltar into that scrawny dishevelled creature that Galen captured in the temple? What has made him the scapegoat of humanity? What the hell has happened?

Galen puts it out of his mind. He steps out of the toilet stall just in time to see Helo and Sharon walking into the bar; their arms draped around each other’s waists. Galen’s heart catches as they enter the room. As always, this is the best and worse part of his night. Dee smiles to see them, passes the Pyramid ball to Anders and joins them at their stools. Yeah, they all accept Sharon these days. She's one of the gang. Helo spots Felix sitting alone in the corner and waves him to come over. Felix rises to his feet, smiling for the first time that night, and makes his way towards them. Yeah, because Helo is the prince of the Galactica, who can banish away your troubles with little more than an easy smile and pat on the back.

Galen hates to feel so bitter. He knows Helo is a good guy. He’s the best guy. Galen really likes this guy. Sometimes that makes it so much harder. He thinks he would give anything to trade places with Helo now. Funny…a few years back he had felt sorry for him. He had pitied the poor bastard who had fallen in love with a machine and would have to spend the rest of his life looking at the thing through bars. Galen thought he had been the smart one; the guy who had bowed out and made his life easier. He should have known things would change. Just look at Helo and Sharon now. They’re the happiest couple in the barroom. It could have been him, Gods damn it! It could have been him.

Galen takes a breath. He knows in his heart that he’s wrong. He knows she was never his Sharon. His Sharon died in his arms long ago. Yet he knows she is still out there somewhere. She’ll be alive again on one of those basestars, so far beyond his reach, so far beyond any sense of hope. She can never come home again. She’ll always be the one who shot the old man, whether she meant to or not. There are some things they won’t ever forgive. But that doesn’t stop Galen from thinking of her. It doesn’t stop him from praying or lighting candles in her memory.

Galen stares at the girl who wears Sharon’s face. He remembers how it felt to grasp her by the lapels and pull her close to his chest. He remembers her body was tall and firm, her spine was hot under his hands, her lips were fierce beneath his kisses and her hair soft as a silk between his fingers. Every part of Sharon was too fine and costly for a knuckledragger like him. She had put her rank aside to be with him, but he had refused to put aside her race. And so he had lost her. And so he had settled for Cally, the woman who put a bullet in his one shot at happiness.

Galen can’t stand to look at Sharon any longer. He figures he’s drunk enough to get him to sleep this night. He leaves the bar, not saying a word to his friends. He makes the long walk back to his quarters, hurrying passed the long lanes of Dogsville where the refugees are moaning in their beds, the Mellorak sickness still plaguing the camp, the stink of burdock root breathing over the deck. Galen quickens his pace till he reaches his own door.

Galen can hardly believe what he is seeing as he steps inside. The room is swirling with little white stars. The stars pierce into the shadows and throw their bright cheery shapes over his dank metal walls. He looks down and sees the stars are shining through a new lampshade that spins on a motorised wheel beside the bed.

He shakes his head in wonder. It's a nifty little invention.

Galen turns to the corner where Cally is peering into Nicky’s crib. She turns to him and smiles, raising a finger to her lips. She hugs him when he comes to stand beside her. Galen remembers they had another fight over breakfast and Cally had yelled at him not to go to the bar again that night. Cally always forgives him too easily. Galen swallows his shame and plants a kiss on her brow. Nicky is bundled up under his blanket. His chubby face is dry of tears, his little nose is clean of snot and his eyes are shut tight as his mommy’s stars sweep over him.

“He’s sleeping,” Cally whispers. “I finally got him to sleep.”

Galen smiles. It often annoys him when Cally states the obvious, but tonight he finds it endearing. He squeezes her in thanks. He likes the way Cally fits under his arm. He likes how he can tuck her head beneath his chin.

“I think Nicky’s just a little scared of the dark,” Cally went on. “He cries every time I turn out the lamp. I don’t think he likes the stillness either. But he likes to watch the stars floating round him. It has a way of calming him down.” She looks over her shoulder at the twisting metal cylinder. "It's not much...but it's the best I could make it."

Cally turns her face up and Galen kisses her on the nose. Cally always knows how to fix things. She has always been his best girl. Her hair feels oily beneath his hands and her skin smells of viper fuel, but to Galen it’s like a perfume that tells him he’s come home. And it’s in these moments that he wonders why he should ever dread the thought of coming home...

Galen knows it won’t stay this way. It won’t last. Nothing ever lasts. But he holds this moment tight in his arms, not wanting to let it go. There’s magic in this room, there’s love snuggling against his chest and there’s a blessing in the crib.

This is what he has now. This is his life.

It shocks him to realise that he's happy with it.

 

_The End_


End file.
